


Practice Round: The Fundamentals of Celestial Proceedings and Infernal Pursuits

by Aethelflaed



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Aromantic Good Omens, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Learning Blessings and Temptations, Other, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24108790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: 11th century England.It seemed a simple enough plan. After all, a curse is basically just a blessing done backwards. And travel across the continent is so inconvenient. Why not just swap jobs?But before they can begin, Aziraphale and Crowley each have a few things to teach each other...--Written for The Aro Way Challenge 2020!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Aro Way Challenge 2020





	1. Prologue: An Agreement on Mutually Beneficial Education

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Aziraphale is fully female-presenting, and has been for nearly a year. As such, I have chosen to use she/her pronouns. This was a tough decision, and I discussed it with both my discord server and my beta reader. 
> 
> In my mind, Aziraphale is agender, and adopts gendered dress, mannerisms, and pronouns in order to fit a specific identity. This is true in all my fics. Since the identity here is a lay tutor devoted to a convent, a female identity worked best.
> 
> I have endeavored not to write Aziraphale any differently than I normally do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley make an agreement.

“Crowley, no. I don’t know how many times - it’s absolutely _absurd,_ that’s what it is. I won’t hear of it!”

“Come on, Angel.” Crowley lounged along one of the benches in the great hall. It was the middle of the night, and Lord Robert and all his household and servants were asleep. Normally, his guest would be asleep as well, enjoying the luxury of fine linen sheets and downy feather pillows, but tonight there was business to attend to. “Do you really want to spend the next year going back and forth across the continent? Two days to do your blessing, then on to the next? Sounds like a lot of _bother_ to me.”

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale ran her hands down the simple wool kirtle, undecorated hem just brushing the tops of her tan leather boots. “Bother it may be, but you can’t seriously expect - it’s impossible, Crowley.”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s impossible.” Crowley lay out the soft vellum on which he’d roughly sketched a map of the continent. “Look at this. You’re expected to do a blessing in Bayeux in October, then over to Genoa by _Christmas,_ back to Orléans in six weeks – that’s winter travel, Aziraphale – over to Naples, then Vienna, then Florence – all that in, what, ten months? Does Gabriel even know what travel is like these days?”

Aziraphale sighed, adjusting the white wimple around her head. “I doubt he’s traveled mundane roads since the height of Rome. Someone Upstairs mentioned that we’ve been a little lax on the continent lately, and he’s trying to make up for lost time, I think. Regardless, it _can_ be done, with luck, if the weather holds…”

“If it holds _all year._ For both of us, because I’ll be going the opposite direction. Rome, Poitiers, Vienna, Reims, Brindisi, Paris.” He tapped out the locations on the map and sighed, scratching at his chin. It was bare, despite the current fashion for beards. His first attempt had been an utter failure, but maybe it was time to try again. “You could always go by ship. That’s _three_ crossings of the Mediterranean, four if you want to come back after. Of course,” he flashed a grin in the lamp-lit darkness, “that has its own troubles. How _are_ the pirates this year?”

Aziraphale crossed her arms and stubbornly turned away. “We agreed _never_ to speak of that again.”

“I’m not speaking of it! I’m just saying…history repeats itself. And that I think you would make a brilliant pirate queen.”

“It wasn’t by choice!” Aziraphale jumped to her feet, undyed skirt swirling as she began to pace. “My ship was attacked, one thing led to another…” She turned back with a wretched expression, hands twisting together. “I really _was_ trying to return all those stolen goods, only the Venetian Navy didn’t want to listen…”

“You’re just lucky I showed up when I did.” Crowley tossed his shoulder-length hair and leaned back, lounging against the long feasting table as the angel paced again. “What did your superiors think of your new hobby?”

“Oh…fine. You were right if you must know.” She slumped onto the bench in defeat. “They never found out. Michael did have me reprimanded for being four months late on my schedule, but no one really inquired about the details.”

“It’s like I always say,” Crowley reached for another mug of mead, black silk of his loose sleeve gliding across the rough wood of the table. “They don’t _care_ what we get up to, as long as the job gets done. You could probably perform all your blessings right here and just _tell_ Gabriel you went to Vienna. I bet he’d believe you.”

“That is certainly taking it too far. Does your laziness know no bounds?” Aziraphale’s hand brushed across the table, fingers grasping for the last scraps of venison from their midnight meal.

“It’s not laziness, it’s…practicality.” Crowley rolled the last fig across the table to Aziraphale and took another drink from his mug. “We could go to all that effort, traversing the continent, joining up with trade caravans, fighting pirates, back and forth, again and again. Or.” He held up the coin, silver glittering in the darkness. Aziraphale’s eyes held it, unmoving. “One of us takes the kingdom of the Franks, one of us takes the Italian Peninsula. We call Vienna a wash. Five jobs each, all within a few hundred miles of each other. It’ll never be a more even split.”

If anything, Aziraphale went paler. “No, Crowley. Out of the question. It’s too much of a risk. Someone will _notice.”_

“Just like those nuns you’re staying with noticed you sneaking out for a quick reresupper **[1]**at the lord’s hall? 

She jumped to her feet with a scowl and another swirl of skirts. “I never should have come. The Abbess will see I’m missing, and –”

“And what? Report on you to God? I don’t think she has the connections.” But already Aziraphale was retreating, all but running for the door. Crowley resisted the urge to follow – it would only make things worse. “Come on! We get all the assignments taken care of on time, claim we ran into each other in Vienna and cancelled each other out – we’ve done that before. What are you afraid of?”

Aziraphale hovered in the doorway, one foot nearly out of the hall. “I. I can’t do a demonic curse! I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“You didn’t know how to run a pirate ship, but you managed that just fine.” She just frowned, colder than ever. “It’s not really that difficult,” Crowley finished his mug and set it back on the table. “Just like a blessing, only in reverse. And maybe laugh maniacally when you do it, but that part’s optional.”

Still no smile. But at least she hadn’t left yet.

Crowley sighed, climbing to his feet. “Look only Brindisi requires an actual curse. I’ll take that one if you want, I’ll even try to nip over to Vienna and do _both_ of those if I have the time. That leaves you two blessings and three temptations in the Frankish cities. Just convince your target to do something a little…chaotic. I’ll give you a list.”

Aziraphale took a few steps back towards the table. Crowley could see the ink stains in her nail beds as her fingers wrung against each other. “But that’s _four_ blessings for you. With public manifestations. You’ll never be able to manage it.”

“How hard can it be?” He surged to his feet, leaping on the table to declaim to the empty hall: “Be not afraid, humble mortals! I bring you tidings of…sunshine! Rainbows! Puppy dogs! May your crops be watered and your skin be cleared.” He shrugged. “Those are the only two blessings I know.”

“No, no, no!” Aziraphale pressed her hands into her eyes. “This would be a disaster! I don’t know why I ever agreed to meet with you.”

“Because you’re sick of convent food. Because I raided the cellars for the top-quality mead.” Crowley sat on the edge of the table, holding out a fresh mug. “But mostly because you _know_ I’m right! Our sides won’t care, as long as they can tick the boxes. And if you try to take care of this on your own, you _will_ be explaining to Michael why it took at least two years to complete one year’s worth of assignments. And that’s assuming there aren’t any…piratical interruptions.”

Aziraphale took the mug and settled down on the bench again, looking ready to bolt. “It’s never going to _work,_ Crowley. We’ve been taking enough risks just keeping out of each other’s way.” The mug turned in her hands. “If they find out…we’ll be in for much worse than a reprimand. And they _will_ find out.”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. They were close. He could _feel_ it. “You’re right,” he said. Aziraphale looked up, eyes suspicious in the dark. Crowley _never_ admitted when she was right. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I can learn. Show me how it’s done. You do a proper blessing, I’ll walk you through a temptation, then we swap and see how it goes. Like a practice round.”

“And when it all falls apart?”

“It won’t! You’ll see.” Crowley studied her worried expression. “Fine. If we can’t pull off the switch…” he shrugged. “Then I won’t bring it up again. I’ll admit you’re right and that’ll be the end of it. But I really think we can both do it.”

“Are all demons this optimistic?” But he could see, finally, the first edge of a smile.

“Come on, Aziraphale.” He flashed his cockiest grin. “You know I’m one of a kind.”

She studied her mug with pursed lips. “I’ll do it. I’ll agree to the practice round, but _only_ because it’s the best way to show you how completely ridiculous this idea is.”

“Whatever helps you not-sleep at night, Angel.” Crowley re-filled his mug and raised it in a salute. Aziraphale reluctantly lifted hers in agreement. “You won’t regret this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This fic will update a bit irregularly at first as I'm also signed up for the Do It With Style Mini-Bang and did not realize the complexity of having two such WIPs at once! However, chapter 1 will be out in the next few days.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, kindathewholepoint, for both catching typos and helping me work through the logistics of a post-as-you-go story. Thanks also to the Do It With Style Discord Server for tons of encouragement and ideas! And, of course, thanks to [ ItsTheAroWay ](https://itsthearoway.tumblr.com/)over on Tumblr for organizing The Aro Way Challenge 2020. I've been wanting to write an Aro/Ace story, and this was honestly the incentive I needed to get on it!
> 
> Thank you again, and please comment below!  
> \--  
> Footnote:  
> 1Reresupper: a second supper or late night meal, especially a lavish or gluttonous one. Largely disapproved of by, for example, the leading figures in monasteries.[return to text]
> 
> An example of the outfit Aziraphale is wearing [can be seen here.](https://historicenterprises.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=906) It is worn over an underdress; undyed wool varies from grey-white to brown. Monks and nuns also wore a scapular, a sort of over-the-shoulder apron, but as Aziraphale is not a full nun, she only uses hers when working, to avoid staining her dress.


	2. Lesson 1: Rules and the Breaking Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after their agreement, Aziraphale has some regrets. And Crowley arrives unexpectedly for the first lesson.

It was a beautiful morning in the cloister. The sun had risen over the roof of the church, and the west walk was a perfect mix of late-summer heat and cool shade beneath the tall stone arches. A light breeze gently rustled through the grass in the central square, the only sound apart from the scratch of pen on parchment and the occasional clatter from the kitchens behind them.

Aziraphale paced down the walk behind her students, peering over their shoulders to see how their copying was getting along. She needn’t have bothered – as always, every student but one wrote in a perfect, flowing hand, each nearly indistinguishable from the next.

Five girls – teenagers, some almost fully grown – bent over their books, carefully forming each letter in smooth black ink, studying the words in meditative silence. Aziraphale almost envied them. She longed for a chance to lose herself in her work, in the words and wisdom of the past, handed down unchanged as mortal generations came and went.

It was certainly preferable to thoughts of her meeting the night before, the upcoming blessings, the travel, the anxiety over letting Heaven down yet again – and, at least as terrifying, the deal offered by a demon.

Not just any demon. Crowley.

Crowley, the Serpent of Eden.

Crowley, who never showed up except to somehow make a bad situation so very much worse.

Crowley, who would surely only offer to take on Aziraphale’s blessings as part of some diabolical scheme. Would he undermine the blessings? Turn them evil somehow? Use this deal as leverage to make Aziraphale agree to something _worse?_

Well. Perhaps nothing so bad as that. Crowley might be devious, certainly wily, but never precisely…malicious. It had been nearly a century since they started regularly comparing notes, arranging to avoid each other for work purposes and even meeting up between jobs. Aziraphale had begun to think there was no harm in the Arrangement at all, but now…

She shook herself back to the present moment. She’d been standing, staring across the grassy courtyard for some long minutes. Isobel had taken advantage of her momentary distraction to whisper to Anastasia, rubbing her wool sleeve across the light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Stepping quietly behind them, Aziraphale placed a hand on each girl’s shoulder. They fell silent and picked up their pens, starting again on their copying.

No further discipline was necessary. The nuns of the convent could be very strict with the novices – the girls who were training to join them – and often that strictness was extended to the other students, the daughters of the local lords and knights, sent here to learn discipline, obedience, and the womanly arts. To occupy themselves in a useful way until their families had need of them.

Perhaps Aziraphale went too easy on her students, she reflected as she began pacing again. Certainly, they seemed even more spirited than when she’d first arrived, eleven months ago. But she could never bring herself to be harsh with them, not when –

A sharp clatter from the kitchen behind them made all six heads turn. Aziraphale smoothed her skirts, preparing to tell the girls to return to work when a second clatter echoed up the passage, then a wave of voices, then a crash.

“Stay here,” Aziraphale commanded, even as Ædgyth started climbing to her feet. “I’ll just make sure no one was injured in – whatever that was.” She walked briskly towards the door, but now all the girls were rising from their seats. “Really, there’s no need for –”

Had Aziraphale been watching where she was going, she would not have collided with the dark figure coming up the passageway from the kitchen.

As it was, her shoulder crashed into a rib cage wrapped in impossibly black silk. Two hands clutched at her arms from the shadows. Without even thinking, Aziraphale knocked them aside, grabbing one wrist as it went past, fingers gripping into the soft, smooth fabric. She twisted the arm up and behind the figure, slamming it into the rough stone wall.

Pulling the arm hard up against the figure’s back, Aziraphale loomed close, snapping, “Who are you? Why are you coming – oh.” Her mind caught up to the present moment.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” said the figure, and she could _hear_ the grin, completely unfazed. “I don’t suppose you could return that arm, could you?”

“Oh… _Crowley,”_ she groaned. Once again, her day was about to get worse.

\--

“So, ah,” Crowley shifted his weight, relieving the pressure on his shoulder. “Any time now?” He couldn’t really say he was surprised by Aziraphale’s strength at this point, but it always seemed to catch him off guard.

“I really shouldn’t,” she dithered, though the iron grip was already softening. “After all, you did invade this convent.”

“I’m not invading. I just wanted to see what you get up to all day.” He tried to keep his voice calm. Crowley didn’t think Aziraphale was actually angry, but as a demon, it wasn’t something he was about to risk. She could discorporate him with little more than a thought, a fact that was never particularly far from his mind.

“Not invading? Then why are you sneaking in through the kitchens? What did you do to the women down there?”

“Nothing! I – would you – let _go?”_ Aziraphale’s grip finally loosened enough for Crowley to pull free. He stepped away, brushing the wrinkles out of his knee-length bliaut, shaking his cloak back into its proper place. “Right. As I was saying. I brought a few surprises for your next meal, and they got a bit excited. You’d think they’d never even seen meat before.”

He stepped past the flustered angel – served her right, really, attacking an innocent demon just coming up for conversation – and smiled at the five young ladies seated in front of enormous half-written books. Most of them were whispering excitedly behind their hands.

As often happened lately, Crowley had to fight the urge to pull up the hood of his cloak, cover his eyes, withdraw a bit from those watching him. He shook it off. They were just _humans,_ for Satan’s sake – a few of them he’d known for ten years, ever since the random whims of Hell had added this little collection of villages to his assignment rotation.

“Well,” Crowley started, a little more loudly than he’d intended, but at least it sounded confident. “This is about what I expected. Fancy stone arches. Overbearing authority figures. _Far_ too many books. Young ladies absolutely _bored_ out of their minds – and you, Angel, hovering right by the kitchens.” He turned back to Aziraphale with a winning smile, but the blue eyes just scowled at him.

“Now that your curiosity is satisfied,” she tugged at the narrow sleeves of her dress, somehow more colorless than that robe from the Garden of Eden, “will you be inspecting the gardens next? The stables?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced around, up and down the corridor. The shadowy corner stood close by on the left, and farther along to the right another woman sat with a group of younger girls, teaching them to stitch. This side of the covered walk faced east, no surprise there. He wondered if Aziraphale even noticed such things, or if it was some angelic instinct she couldn’t control. “Can’t say much for the view, but I like the conversation here.”

He propped himself against a wall and glanced over at Aziraphale’s students. Five girls – kids, really, but just at that age where everyone suddenly expects them to act like adults – in dresses colorless except for black or red ink stains.

He knew a few of them, recognized the rest. Ædgyth, of course, Lord Robert’s ward. Caterina, third or fourth daughter of a local baron. One of the others was Isobel, but with their hair hidden by identical scarves and their faces turned to identical frowns it was hard to tell them apart.

Well. First temptation of the day. He could probably get them to smile.

“You know,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your tutor someplace with a kitchen so _bare_ before. They do actually feed you, right?”

Four pairs of eyes glared as disapprovingly as Aziraphale’s did.

Ædgyth, however, had already said, “Yes…” before realizing the others weren’t planning to speak. She bowed her head, staring down at her hands. “Er, yes, Lord Crowley. They do.” Her accent seemed a little stronger here than it did at the manor house. She glanced at the other girls and huddled down a little further.

“Well, that’s good,” Crowley continued brightly, ignoring the forbidding silence. “Don’t think she’d still be here if there was absolutely no food.” He smiled towards Aziraphale, whose face was about as close as she could get to pure angelic fury without cracking her human façade. He let his smile grow. “Not that she’s a big eater. I mean, she is. One time, we were dining at the king’s table and she ate – what was it, Angel? Eight courses? Ten? One was just this entire roast chicken, all by herself.” Two of the girls laughed at that, though the others looked scandalized.

“I did not – it was a ptarmigan, not a chicken. There is a difference!” Now all but one were fighting back giggles, and Ædgyth’s frown had the look of a girl biting her lip to keep from smiling. “And I’ll thank you not to bring up – that was a different time.”

“Right. What I’m getting at is, your teacher is a true gourmand. Absolutely drawn to the best foods in the world.” He pushed off from the wall and slowly circled Aziraphale. “Like…that lamb stew with fresh apricots.” He saw Aziraphale’s jaw tighten at the words. “Or blancmange with rice and almonds. Hmm. Oysters and sauce. Capretto with coriander. Dates and walnuts and—”

“Crow—” she started to snap, but was cut off by a rumbling from her stomach so loud it nearly drowned out the laughter of the girls.

“But of course, that _was_ a different time.” He folded his hands behind his back. “She’s given it all up now for a life of, what, porridge? Boiled carrots? Salted fish?”

“We get peas sometimes,” said one of the girls. “Pounded into mush.”

“Ooh.” Crowley nudged Aziraphale with his elbow. “Hope the books are worth it.”

Her hand landed on his shoulder. “My students would do well to remember,” she started in a low voice that nevertheless carried across the stone hall, “that even if their food isn’t _exciting,_ they still get plenty of it, every day. Which is more than many people can say.”

“Aw, I just wanted to make sure they appreciate your sacrifice.” He tossed the girls a wink. “That’s something your lot are big on, right? Self-denial?”

“Perhaps. And that _includes_ denying ourselves the joys of such…stimulating conversation during the copying hours.” One flick of her eyes sent the girls scrambling for pens and books again, carefully pretending to work, though their ears still strained to listen in. “As for you –” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s sleeve and hauled him back towards the kitchens.

“What do you think you’re doing, Crowley?” she demanded in a sharp whisper, pausing halfway down the short corridor that separated the students from the bustling cooks.

“I told you, just having a conversation.” He brushed her hands away. “You know? Talking to people? Kind of my thing?”

“You are embarrassing me in front of my students. I am supposed to be a respected member of this community.”

“And they won’t respect you if you like good food and fabrics that don’t itch?” He tugged at her sleeve, stiff and rough and severely tight at the wrist. “Wool, Aziraphale. It’s the middle of summer. What has gotten _into_ you lately?”

“Those are the rules of my order, Crowley.”

“You don’t have a bloody order,” he hissed, dropping his voice to a level that humans could barely perceive. “You’re an _angel.”_

“Yes, Crowley. An angel. We are designed to obey. Which means that while I’m here, living among these humans, I follow their rules. Even the ones I don’t like.”

Crowley shook his head and turned back towards the kitchen.

Aziraphale hadn’t always been like this. Sometimes she even knew how to be _fun._ Then, next thing you knew, she had that giant stick up her ass, just like the rest of those celestial morons.

She was probably expecting him to leave now, but he would not let it go that easy. A barrel stood near this corner of the kitchen; he knocked the lid off and reached inside.

“Here’s your first lesson, then, Angel. If you want to succeed at temptations, you have to be willing to bend the rules.”

\--

Aziraphale clutched at her skirts, chasing Crowley back up the hall to the main cloister. “Stop! Crowley, this is absurd.”

He ignored her, swaggering along as if he personally owned the monastery.

“This isn’t what we _agreed_ to,” she snapped. Yes, she’d gone along with his horrid suggestion – lessons, demonstrations, even attempting a temptation herself – but all that was supposed to be outside the village, where she didn’t have _duties_ and a _reputation_ to maintain. They hadn’t even technically begun and things were getting wildly out of hand already.

She finally caught his ridiculous flapping sleeve, fighting back the pinch of jealousy at the way the smooth fabric slid between her fingers. “Just think, Crowley. If someone catches you –”

“Hmm.” The demon smirked at her, then glanced significantly at the east walk, on the far side of the courtyard. The pale shapes of the abbess and other senior nuns set about their business in full view of Aziraphale and her pupils. “You’re right. It would take a _real miracle_ to keep us from being noticed.”

While Aziraphale was still processing what he had asked her to do, Crowley tugged his sleeve free and stepped into the cloister, grinning and holding out a double handful of deep purple plums. “And I have a feeling these girls aren’t going to tell on us.”

In an instant, the students were on their feet, work abandoned as they gathered around Crowley like children, hands out for a treat. He asked each girl her name before handing over a plum – though knowing Crowley, he’d forget them in a heartbeat – and a moment later they were giggling and laughing, chattering away like birds at dawn.

Aziraphale couldn’t hope to keep up, snatching at each sound, twisting it away from the ears of the nuns, sending even the echoes to blow away unheard on the winds. She tossed every distraction she could think of towards Sabelina, keeping her and her students from noticing the commotion just a stone’s throw away.

Isobel and Justina, Aziraphale’s youngest students, rolled the plums between their hands, marveling at the texture, working themselves into an absolute tizzy about what they _might_ taste like. Caterina started on hers with a delicate bite that dribbled juice down her pointed chin, to the laughter of the rest. Only Ædgyth remained at the back, away from the other girls, one hand still resting on her manuscript.

“Hlæfdige,”[1] Crowley called, and tossed her a plum. She caught it easily, smiling shyly at him.

As if it were a signal, all the girls were suddenly in motion. Isobel and Justina tossing their fruits back and forth like boys with balls, shrieking every time they almost missed, high pitched squeals Aziraphale could never hope to contain. Anastasia was holding her copy work up to Crowley, rich characters flowing across the page. “I’ve been practicing for years and years,” she explained breathlessly, “and next month I get to start studying under the illuminator! Illuminating[2] is the _best_ part.”

“Yes, but only because you can’t score your lines straight,” interrupted Justina, placing her plum on a stool and grabbing her own work. “Mine’s the neatest, can’t you tell?”

In a flash, four books were being shoved towards his slit-pupil eyes, while each girl proclaimed her own strength. Despite their alleged dedication to humility, Aziraphale had rarely met a more competitive group of children. They hardly ever talked except to boast and tease each other.

“They look equally good to me,” said Crowley, with a smile that took them all in, but the girls laughed.

“Well,” said Caterina with a sneer. “All of them except _Edith’s._ Her handwriting is all skinny and weird.”

Behind them, Ædgyth sank onto her stool, eyes on the fruit she still held in her hands. Her jaw was clenched.

“She only comes to lessons once a week,” added Anastasia. “If that.”

“Girls,” Aziraphale interrupted, trying to stem things before they turned nasty. “I’ve told you before, _Ædgyth –”_ she emphasized the pronunciation – “has important duties at Lord Robert’s manor –”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” cut in Ædgyth, her rough English accent like a sharp angle compared to the other girls’ smooth French.[3] “I can write well enough for record keeping. What need for fancy writing or little pictures in your account book? Why should I waste my time here?”

The girls fell silent, all holding their books a little closer. Isobel looked especially troubled, her lip trembling. Finally, Caterina broke the hush, slamming her manuscript back on its stand. “You see?” she asked Crowley. “She just isn’t _serious_ like the rest of us.” She picked up her half-eaten plum and took another bite.

“Serious?” Crowley glanced at her book again. “Is that why Saint Augustine’s _De Libero Arbitrio **[4]**_ is illustrated with armored knights fighting giant snails?”[5]

The girls laughed again as Caterina stepped in front of the book, shielding it from view.

“What is going on over here?”

The abbess – a dark, looming shape despite her pale robes – stepped around the corner, catching Aziraphale completely unprepared. She dropped the threads of power she’d been holding, and the sound of flurrying feet filled the cloister as the girls threw themselves back to their seats, desperately trying to hide plums up narrow sleeves or behind their bottles of ink. Caterina tossed the remains of hers far into the courtyard in a panic.

“So much for that miracle,” muttered Crowley, circling around Aziraphale.

“You try it next time,” she hissed back, then stepped forward, putting herself into the path of the abbess’s scowl. “Abbess. You remember Lord Crowley. He has offered to escort me to town for next week’s market.”

Aziraphale almost always attended markets on the convent’s behalf. It was the simplest excuse to slip away and attend to her _other_ duties in the surrounding villages.

Last night, she and Crowley had worked out a cover story to explain her absence for the next few days, using that as the base, but Aziraphale remembered with a guilty start that she hadn’t gotten around to actually _informing_ the abbess of the change in plans.

“I remember.” The abbess frowned; her narrow face was built for frowning, thin lips and wrinkles exaggerating the downturn of her mouth, sharp eyebrows pulling close. She might be just a human, but her disapproval always made Aziraphale squirm. “It would appear he is a few days early. And in my abbey without permission.”

Crowley, however, seemed as unaffected as ever. He strode past Aziraphale and slapped on his most charming smile. “Abbess. How lovely to see you again.” His smile slid off her expression with no effect. “Lord Robert asked me to leave ahead of his party and prepare things at the townhouse.” He turned to raise an eyebrow at Aziraphale, clearly asking why this was news to the abbess, and the angel shrugged an apology. “So I came to ask if your best tutor would be willing to leave a few days early. And to request that the lord’s ward be sent home to prepare for her journey. Seemed easier to nip in and ask myself rather than send a messenger.”

“Easier?” The abbess’s face grew even more thunderous. “The porter should never have let you through the front gate –”

“Ah, yeah, that’s why I came in through the kitchens.” A brief flash of teeth. “Lord Robert also sent some gifts from his larder in honor of your birthday this week. How old are you now? Forty? Forty-two?”

The abbess narrowed her eyes, clearly not fooled by this attempt at flattery, but Crowley simply stood there, radiating innocence. Some demonic trick of his, Aziraphale had always assumed, that made him irresistible to humans.

Well, it wasn’t likely to work this time. And Crowley’s _next_ plan would almost certainly be to run around the abbey rewriting everyone’s memory – and that only ever ended in disaster. Aziraphale quickly stepped forward, pushing him aside.

“Apologies, Abbess. This is entirely my fault.” She tried not to let the abbess see her twisting her fingers like a naughty child caught in a lie. “I knew that Lord Crowley would have, er, new information and I’d asked him to send word to me before Sext[6] today. Sadly, I forgot to account for the fact that he is a complete fool, without an ounce of sense.”

“Oi, standing right here.”

“I am _well_ aware of that.” She glared at him briefly. “You must understand, Abbess, I have known Lord Crowley a great many years. Miscommunications like this are quite common where he is concerned, and I should have remembered that he is a hopeless buffoon.”

“It’s true, Abbess,” Isobel spoke up. “He snuck in the back and she tried to stop him. We all saw.”

“And she tried to make him leave,” Justina added. “But –”

“Children should not speak unless spoken to,” the abbess said, not looking at the girls at all. They hunched back over their books, pens moving frantically, though Isobel’s hand shook. “And why do they all have these fruits?”

Crowley started to raise his arm, fingers ready to snap. Aziraphale slapped it back down again, glaring at him. _Not here._

He twisted his lips as if about to say something, then turned with a smile to the abbess. “Well, I knew Ædgyth would be leaving before the midday meal, and thought it a pity she should miss out on sharing with her friends, so I brought some up. Was that wrong?”

“Yes,” the abbess plucked Ædgyth’s plum from where it sat next to her jar of ink. “Eating between meals is strictly forbidden. You can return these to the kitchen as you leave, and send my regards to Lord Robert for the gift.” Her eyes flicked to Aziraphale with the kind of dismissive disgust that would make Uriel proud. “I’ll discuss this change of plans with you later, as well as the penance your students shall serve for disrupting the peace of the cloister. Take this man out of my convent before he further corrupts them.”

“Very well spotted,” Crowley continued, voice brimming over with helpful cheer. “My specialty is actually corruption through fruit, but my wicked scheme to turn your students from the path of virtue has been thoroughly and completely foiled.” Aziraphale kicked his ankle, but he smiled all the more brightly. “I’ll just help Aziraphale collect her possessions and then I’ll be on my way.”

“No you won’t, _Lord Crowley,”_ Aziraphale said through clenched teeth. “One of the girls can help me collect my things from the dormitory, _if_ the abbess allows it. If you have any interest in being useful, you can fetch the donkey and cart and wait for me by the stables.”

“Fetch the donkey!” Crowley shouted with undisguised disgust. The abbess opened her mouth – probably to protest or throw him out – and Crowley snapped his fingers, faster than Aziraphale could follow. The abbess froze, as did all the girls, and every human in the convent. “Bless it, Angel, I’m not going to fetch some miserable –”

“What have you _done?”_ She rushed over to check on the abbess, then each of the students. Frozen in place, but otherwise unharmed. “That was completely unnecessary, you know. I had this under control.”

“Under control? Is that what you’re calling it?” He pulled the plum back out of the abbess’s grasp and placed it next to Ædgyth. “You’re letting some human walk all over you! Asking _permission_ to go do your angelic duties. It’s frankly embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry that _demons_ have no concept of the chain of command,” she snapped, checking the youngest girls over again. “But I have to listen to reasonable authority figures when I am in their domain.”

“Rules her out,” he shrugged carelessly. “Leave them alone, let’s just go.”

“I can’t just – Crowley, I have duties here! I can’t simply walk away, certainly not while the _entire convent_ is still in an infernal trance! What if someone notices?”

“Who’s going to notice? They’ll snap out of it in five minutes. We should have done this first thing.” He leaned towards the abbess, rubbing his chin. “You know. If you’re going to insist on this…chain of command thing, we could just tell her to give you a promotion. Get you enough power to actually do your job.” He shot Aziraphale a grin. “Or maybe just give you a pass on the food and clothing thing. You’ve got to admit, that is a _stupid_ vow.”

“No! It is a sacrifice they _choose_ to make to show their devotion to the cause.”

“Yuh. I’m sure wearing three layers of wool on a summer day is really going to help these girls write their books.” He wiggled fingers in front of the abbess’s eyes. “What do you say? Casual Fridays?”

“Crowley will you just _stop!”_ She clenched her fists and glared at him. “Stop all of this. Stop interfering with what I am trying to do here. Stop acting like you know best.” She took a deep breath. “I know everything is a big game to you, but I am still on assignment in this convent for six more weeks. Don’t make my job harder than it has to be.”

“I’m not the one making things harder!”

“Yes you are! It’s what you always do. And if you can’t follow simple instructions, I’m certainly not going to allow you to do blessings in my stead! Now please. Go to the stables and wait for me. I will take care of things here.”

With one last overly dramatic eye roll, Crowley turned and slouched off.

Aziraphale turned back to her students, looking over their minds again to ensure they hadn’t picked up any subconscious traces of the conversation. Then she reached for Ædgyth’s plum, planning to return it to the abbess’s hand.

Well. Supposing a few small alterations couldn’t hurt…

Aziraphale looked the abbess in the eyes. “When you wake up, you will have no memory of Crowley being here, just a messenger from the kitchens. You’ve already agreed to everything. And…” she glanced over at her students. “And you don’t remember any reason for these girls to be in trouble today.” She lowered her voice. “In fact, you’ve had a very lovely morning, and you think everyone deserves an evening off and a small celebration.”

Nodding, Aziraphale snapped her fingers.

[1] Hlæfdige – title and form of address for an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman of almost any rank; ancestor of the word “lady” in modern English

[2] Illuminating – painted decorations in manuscripts, including both decorated capital letters and full-page illustrations. Many were made with silver and gold.

[3] French – the language spoken in this story is Norman French; however, Ædgyth’s first language is Old English or Anglo-Saxon. Note that her name is the original Anglo-Saxon form of the name Edith

[4] _De Libero Arbitrio_ by Augustine of Hippo – “On Choice of the Will,” a fourth-century text on the question of the origin of evil and God’s role in free will.

[5] Armored knights fighting snails – a very common form of marginalia (drawings in margins) seen in 13th and 14th century Europe. No one knows why. Caterina is a bit ahead of the fashion on these.

[6] Sext – fifth bell of the day in a monastery, signaling the noon service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This chapter took a surprising amount out of me, so I hope you liked the result.
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader, kindathewholepoint, for talking me through this and the next "Lesson." I still have a bit of work to do on my planning, so no firm date on the next chapter, but there should be new stories in one form or another, so subscribe to not miss anything!  
> \--  
> History notes:
> 
> And now I'm sure you're all wondering, how do you pronounce "Ædgyth"? Me, too! I couldn't find a good pronunciation guide online. The "Æ" is flatter than the "E" in "Edith," so the "Æd-" is pronounced as either "Ad" or "Ed" (accurately, halfway between the two). I couldn't find if "gyth" is pronounced with a hard g (as in "gift") or a soft g (as in "gentle") or even a j ("joy"). I've been saying "Ad-gith" but "Ed-jith" also works.
> 
> This paragraph may have been very confusing for non-English speakers, and I am *so* sorry.
> 
> This scene is part of the reason I wanted female Aziraphale in this story. I think it's very likely Aziraphale would be fairly happy in a scriptorium, handling and copying the books (if a castle wasn't available). But though we think of these as being the purview of monks, they were actually at least as common (if not more common) in convents!
> 
> Convents have a bit of a reputation in Medieval history as "where unwanted females were sent." The daughters of nobility often spent years there before they were married, being educated and watched over; widows often retired to convents or became abbesses; and of course there were the nuns themselves. Histories often give the impression that women virtually vanished during their time in convents, but in fact they would be very active, working in gardens, copying books, and they engaged with the people of the towns (especially as healers) more often than monks did. Abbesses could have power comparable to local lords (and were often their mothers or aunts). And, of course, not all of them were perfectly behaved - letters from church leaders suggest that young nuns getting restless and seeking a bit of adventure or romance was a recurring problem! So I wanted to get on my soap box a little bit about the active lives of women in the Middle Ages.
> 
> Aziraphale's order is not a real one but is loosely based on several medieval monastic communities, including Benedictines and Cistercians; Benedictines in particular incorporated a great deal of reading into daily life and generally had large libraries. The stricter orders also generally required simple clothing and food, sometimes as little as one meal per day. The full sisters of the order would spend much of the day in prayer (8 prayer sessions per day, held in the church), while lay sisters (not "sworn in" so to speak) were expected to pray where they stood or pause in meditative silence - meaning they were much more able to carry on labor-intensive tasks. Aziraphale is posing as a lay sister.


End file.
